


wildflowers

by carolinaa



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Isolation, M/M, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinaa/pseuds/carolinaa
Summary: Snufkin returns to Moominvalley, on the first day of Spring. He's on time, and everything.Moomin isn't there to meet him.





	wildflowers

**Author's Note:**

> title is just that wailin' jennys song because it makes me feel soft and i listened to it while writing this. lmao

It’s beginning to snow harder by the moment. Snufkin keeps brushing snow off of the brim of his hat, and he keeps getting more and more annoyed. It’s supposed to be the first day of Spring today, which means that he needs to return  _ today _ to get back-- and there, again, he almost thought of Moominvalley as  _ home _ , and he shivers as he redirects his thoughts. His coat must be soaking through.

Selfishly, he hopes that he’ll be able to stay with the Moomins for a night. The perfect scenario would entail getting in and out of their house without them knowing, because he doesn’t want Moomin to fuss over him out in the snow. He doubts that that would work out, as he’s not the master burglar he sometimes wishes he was. Then again, the idea of asking for a place to stay is horrifying, and he figures that  _ one  _ night out in the snow wouldn’t be so bad, so long as he doesn’t get sick.

He makes the turn onto the path that leads down to Moominvalley. He almost misses the familiar turn, with the melty snow covering everything and the birds silent. The air is quiet and heavy, and Snufkin’s chest is filling with an uneasy feeling. He’s moving at a faster-than-normal clip, tripping over his own feet because the ground is slippery and his socks are too thin for this weather and his toes are numb. Something feels wrong, but he can’t tell if that’s because the idea of growing so attached is scaring him or because his intuition is legitimately telling him something.

His boots are caked with snow and the slushy mud on the path, and he slips on his way down the hill. Snufkin feels his back hit the ground and all of the air leave his lungs, and he slides all the way to the foot of the bridge. 

He suddenly feels like shouting. It’s cold, and he’s so hungry, and Moomin isn’t waiting for him on the bridge. And when he looks at the tower, it’s dark and lifeless. 

When he creaks open the door and peers inside, it’s dusty, still prepared for winter with sheets covering all the furniture. The only thing that’s different is that there are a few pots scattered around the living room, collecting water that’s dripping from the ceiling (Snufkin supposes that the tree growing in the living room is contributing to some roof damage). 

He creeps up the stairs and pushes Moomin’s door open, quiet as he can, but the door still creaks loudly. Snufkin winces, prepared to apologize, but then he looks into the room and the words die in his mouth. 

The room is empty. 

Snufkin steps inside, looks around to make sure that Moomin isn’t hiding in a corner somewhere. He even checks under the bed, and still nothing. 

His heart beats a little harder in his chest. 

Tearing himself away from Moomin’s room, Snufkin backs out and hurries down the stairs as quietly as he can, until he comes to the room that Moomin’s parents share. They’ll be just as worried as Snufkin about their son missing. 

However, he finds that room empty as well. There’s no trace of Moominmamma  _ or  _ Moominpappa, and there’s nothing in the room that would suggest they’ve been here at all this winter. The kitchen and dining room is similarly empty, and Snufkin hears no movement anywhere in the house other than dripping of water into various pots. 

Snufkin takes a deep breath, and tries to think through this rationally (even though he can’t stop thinking about Moominpappa’s previous insistence that the family hibernate through every winter). They couldn’t have simply gone out on a walk, because Snufkin would have seen their footprints leading from the house. Could they have moved away entirely, with Moomin having no way to tell Snufkin because Snufkin had panicked and left a day early?

The house feels cold and empty around him, and suddenly too spacious. It’s the first day of spring tomorrow, and they should all still be asleep. 

Snufkin runs out of the house, heart in his throat, backpack bouncing against his back. Whether it’s the idea of losing Moomin or the fact that he’s become  _ reliant  _ on a sort of routine, some sort of emotion is choking him up. 

It’s quiet outside, save for the stream bubbling along. He sits down on the bridge and tries to breathe, something that’s harder than he would like it to be. 

After crying a little bit and getting some pent-up emotions out, he feels better, and pulls himself to his feet. There’s no use in moping; he might as well start asking around. Someone in this area  _ must  _ know where they went. 

However, nobody does. It’s quite discouraging, given the emotional toll that speaking to near-strangers usually inflicts on Snufkin. He asks Sniff, and the Muskrat, and even Mrs. Fillyjonk (who really dislikes him, on the basis of his ragged clothes). He even stoops so low as to ask Stinky, who has nothing kind to say on the matter, so Snufkin abruptly leaves in the middle of the conversation before he can snap.

 

Weeks pass, and the Moomins still don’t show up. Snufkin packs up his things and leaves the valley.

Snufkin wanders for a long time. It’s well into summer now, and the sharp hurt of losing the Moomins and his older sister is fading to a dull ache. They must have simply moved away without telling him. He ignores the darker, scarier idea of them simply leaving to avoid him. He’s not  _ that  _ hard to avoid, to warrant all that.

The summer around him is beautiful. It’s not too hot, so there’s plenty of water and animals around, and the spring flowers have survived the heat thus far. His skin tans a little, but thankfully doesn’t burn, and he should be content. 

His harmonica stays in his pocket. He forages for food because if he stays still while fishing too long, his thoughts start to spiral. 

Snufkin, one day, realizes he’s worried. He’s feeling that longing, yearning that people sometimes mention Moomin feels about Snufkin, but that feeling is mixed with anxiety and fear and whatever else. It’s why he keeps finding himself back close to the Valley, instead of continuing to distance himself from it. 

Snufkin doesn’t want to think about that too hard. The Groke is wandering through this area, he’s heard, and he doesn’t want to draw her attention.

 

One night, near midsummer, on an evening where he had decided not to set up camp for the evening, he’s stumbling through a darker part of the woods and he sees a light up ahead.

Further inspection reveals that it’s a bath house, lit up from the inside with a warm glow that probably means the fireplace is lit. Snufkin’s hungry and exhausted, but perhaps he could ask this person if they’ve seen the Moomins before he finds a dry spot to sleep for the evening. The worst they can say is no.

He knocks on the door, and then hefts his backpack up higher on his shoulders. It seems to get heavier every day. 

Now that he’s closer to the door, he can hear chatter inside, as well as a bright laugh and footsteps heading towards the door. When it swings open, Snufkin peers out from under the brim of his hat to see Too-Ticky standing there.

She says, “Snufkin, how are you?”

Snufkin nods to her, not having the energy to return the smile. “I didn’t know you lived out here.”

“Only seasonally.” Too-Ticky stands back, gestures for Snufkin to come inside. “What brings you out here?”

Snufkin steps inside, even though the small building is making him claustrophobic just looking at it. It would be impolite to refuse. “I’m just travelling in the area. I thought this was the Moomins’ bath house?”

Too-Ticky says, “Yes! But they’re out of town, and when they’re out of town or hibernating, it’s mine.”

Snufkin spins to look at her. Well, he tries to spin, but the entryway is too narrow and his backpack hits the wall, and he just has to turn his head instead. “Do you know where they went?”

She shrugs, like she doesn’t hold Snufkin’s heart in her broad hands. “Let’s get you warmed up and have some dinner, and then we’ll let you head out.”

Snufkin huffs, frustrated, but she herds him to a dining table and sits him down, and she points to a pot of soup on the table. 

He helps himself. It smells very good, and he hasn’t cooked anything for himself in a while. The warm food is a welcome change of pace, and his spirits are automatically lifted a level or two.

Someone else emerges from a room while he has his whole face in his bowl, and they say, “Hello, I don’t think we’ve met.”

Snufkin looks up, and blinks at the person. She looks like she’s about Too-Ticky’s age, and she has bright red hair up in a ponytail just like Little My’s. Snufkin squints. “I’m Snufkin.”

“I’m the Mymble’s daughter,” she explains. Snufkin chokes on his soup, just a little bit.

“I think you’re my sister,” he says, setting down his bowl and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “How’s Mom?”

“Busy, probably. Haven’t seen her in a long time.” Mymble shrugs. As Too-Ticky passes her to go into the small room she’d just emerged from, Mymble kisses her on the cheek and then sits at the table across from Snufkin. Seeing his look, she says, “From what Too-Ticky has said about you and Moomin, I don’t think you should say anything.”

He doesn’t find his words quickly enough to refute her effectively--he doesn’t like the idea of Too-Ticky gossiping about something that doesn’t exist, but he doesn't have the energy to get in a fight. Also, he needs to be polite to get answers. 

So instead of fighting her on that, he busies himself with his soup until Too-Ticky comes back, his face and ears warming in embarrassment. The silence is a bit uncomfortable; there’s no right thing to say upon meeting one’s half-sibling. Both of them have lived this exact situation more times than they wanted to, he suspects.

Too-Ticky sits down at the table, in front of her own bowl. “Right, so. You’re out looking for the Moomins, are you?”

He nods. “Did they move away?” he asks, terrified of the answer.

“No, nothing like that,” Too-Ticky says, and then watches Snufkin deflate in relief. “They’re out at sea for a trip.”

He considers this. “Did they say when they’d be back?”

“Midsummer,” Too-Ticky says. “Do you want more soup?” she asks, as if Midsummer isn’t  _ very soon  _ and Snufkin needs to start travelling to the seaside immediately.

Snufkin puts his spoon down. “No, thank you. I should be going.”

Mymble says, “Aw, please stay for the night! You look like you need to rest.”

She’s right, of course. His eyelids are practically drooping closed. While he doesn’t want there to be any chance of him missing the Moomins’ return, he’s not going to be able to navigate very well in this state. Plus, Too-Ticky is already refilling his bowl. 

“There’s plenty,” she tells him, rolling her eyes at his hesitancy.

He finishes that bowl of soup, and then drags himself to his feet. He knows that they mean well by offering a bed in here, but he would much prefer to sleep where he can see the stars. “Thank you for the soup,” he says. “I need to go.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Too-Ticky says, knowing the answer already.

“Yes. Goodbye,” he says, and waves to both of them, and then he walks out the door. 

After that, he has a direction to travel to. It’s a nice change of pace for this year, for him to actually have a destination.

 

He reaches the sea on the morning of Midsummer. He jogs the last mile or so, because the sun is moving so fast up in the sky and he’s terrified he’s going to miss the Moomins entirely.

Right as he turns the corner on the path and emerges from the forest to hit the top of the dunes, he sees the boat hits the shore, and Snufkin shouts, at the top of his lungs, “Moomin!” 

Moomin leaps off the boat, waving frantically, yelling something back that’s snatched away by the wind. It doesn’t matter. The look of delight on Moomin’s face means that Snufkin wasn’t wrong when he assumed that Moomin would still care about him after all these months. 

Snufkin hurtles down the winding sand path through the high dunes, tall grass cutting at his forearms and face as he goes. He sees Moomin heading towards him as well, and he tries not to smile as widely as he wants to--but then he does anyway, because he’s  _ earned  _ that, right? 

He may be running a little too quickly, but he doesn’t care. That is, until a footstep is misplaced, and the foot slides out from underneath Snufkin, leading to a terrifying few seconds where he thinks he’ll wipe out and tumble down the side of the sandy dune. As it is, he slips for a few feet before the strong sea wind helps him right himself, and then he continues on his way, determined.

His chest feels like it’s cracking open. Moomin comes closer, until Snufkin can hear the intermittent shouts of “Snufkin!”, until Snufkin takes a final two steps and  _ launches  _ himself into Moomin’s arms.

Moomin catches him and lifts him off the ground, and the two of them spin around a few times, until the unsteady balance Moomin has on the sand gives out and the two of them spill to the ground in a heap. 

Snufkin’s laughing, so hard his ribs hurt (he doubts that he got hurt in the fall, Moomin cushioned that very nicely), and he can feel, against the side of his head, Moomin beaming at him, not perturbed at all by the tumble.

“Where on earth did you go?” Snufkin asks, once he’s gotten his breath back. He slides off of Moomin, rolling to a position where he’s propped up on his elbow and watching Moomin from a respectful distance instead. He retrieves his hat and puts it back on before the wind can carry it away.

All he wants is to stay where he was, in Moomin’s arms, but the temporary moment where he let himself forget about politeness and friendship boundaries has passed.

Moomin says, gesturing towards the ship, “Pappa made a very spontaneous decision to go on a cruise, I suppose. We sailed all over!”

His eyes are shining. It must have been a very special trip. 

Snufkin makes the immediate decision to not mention that he’s been moping around the forest for the last few months. It’ll only make Moomin guilty--it wasn’t his decision to be off adventuring, anyway.

“You’ll have to tell me all about it,” Snufkin says, and freezes his smile on his face so that it won’t go away as his thoughts descend into negativity. 

"We would have brought you along!” Moomin says, half-apologetic. “But you had already left.”

Thankfully, the others have caught up by now, because Snufkin is feeling too many feelings to respond to that appropriately. He and Moomin sit up, and then Moomin pulls him to his feet. Moomin doesn’t let go of Snufkin’s hand after that, and Snufkin finds that he’s reassured, for some reason.

“Good to see you, Snufkin.” Moominmamma says, as Snorkmaiden gives Snufkin a friendly hug (which Snufkin returns with the available hand he has) and Little My affectionately kicks him in the shins. Moominpappa gives a similarly jovial greeting, and then Moominmamma continues, “Oh, we should have left a note or something to tell you where we had gone. How lucky you found us here.”

Snufkin flushes red. Making eye contact with Moominmamma, it’s clear she knows  _ exactly  _ how much time he’d spent panicking about the situation, but she’s not going to bring it up in front of the others. “It’s quite alright,” he says. He’s lying through his teeth, and the small frown on Moominmamma’s face means that she knows it. “I’m glad to see all of you again.”

“Well, good thing too, because  _ some  _ people never shut the hell up about you,” Little My says, baring her teeth at Moomin. She looks a little green around the gills, and it’s entirely possible that she’s prone to seasickness. 

Snufkin releases Moomin’s hand to cover his ears and glare at her, and Little My simply sticks out her tongue, looking pleased with herself. “It’s just a bad word, it can’t hurt you!” she snarks, and then she picks up her suitcase and starts up the path, signalling that it’s time to head home. 

“I think it’s time we get home. It’s past lunchtime,” Moominmamma says. She glances at Snufkin again, and then says, “Moomin, help your father with the luggage. Snorkmaiden can’t carry things right now.”

Attempting to be cool in the face of imminent personal questions, Snufkin looks to Snorkmaiden questioningly.

She holds up a paw, and he sees that her wrist is bandaged up. “I was trying to show off my sailing skills,” she says, and sighs. Snufkin sighs too, sympathetic.

Everyone moves on ahead. Snufkin instantly misses the feeling of Moomin holding his hand. He stoops and picks up Moominmamma’s suitcase, and she thanks him for being a gentle-mumrik, and they start trudging up the path. 

“I hope we didn’t worry you too much, taking off like that,” Moominmamma says, with the quiet sadness of someone who knows exactly how Snufkin reacted to the situation.

He rubs the back of his neck and straightens his hat and basically finds anything to do that isn’t making sideways eye contact with Moominmamma. “It’s fine! I--um. You know, I just wondered where you went. It was...odd, not seeing any of you when I returned.”

“I suppose it would be,” Moominmamma says. “Perhaps sort of how Moomin feels when you’re late?”

Snufkin almost stops walking, almost drops the suitcase and bolts. His throat is closing up. He really hadn’t thought of it that way--is he really that selfish? 

She must see the panic on his face, because she hurries to clarify, “I just meant that he might know how you feel. If you want to talk to him about it. I didn’t mean to insult you. I know that you two understand each other.”

“Right.” Snufkin breathes again, but it’s shallow. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m glad you’re all safe, is all.”

“It’s always a pleasant surprise to see you,” she says. She’s probably sensed that he’s not going to open up any further. “Our door is always open to you.”

“Thank you,” Snufkin says. He isn’t sure if he’ll be able to feel as if he can  _ rely  _ on the tower being a safe spot for him in the near future, but it’s nice to hear nonetheless.

 

On a hot day towards the end of summer, Snufkin and Moomin end up in the most gorgeous meadow in the valley. It’s filled to the brim with bright flowers and a small stream snakes across it diagonally, and sparse, old trees are spread throughout.

Snufkin’s been spending more time than usual with Moomin. He tells himself it’s making up for lost time, but really, it’s because if he goes too long without seeing his best friend, he starts to panic and his heart starts to pound because he has the fear that Moomin just disappeared again. 

He’s working on it. Anyway, that’s part of the reason he agreed to this day trip.

They eat the lunch that they packed, and they stretch out in the flowers to watch the clouds above them for part of the afternoon. It’s quiet and nice out here, and Moomin is doing most of the talking, which is good. Snufkin likes to listen.

Even though right now, he isn’t really listening. He’s trying to get up the courage to take Moomin’s hand again, because there’s a weird urgency in his chest that’s telling him he  _ needs _ to take Moomin’s hand as soon as he can and not let go. 

“That one looks like Sniff,” Snufkin says, pointing up at the sky. When he lets his hand fall, he orchestrates it to land overlapping Moomin’s. It’s all very precise, and his stomach clenches as he waits for Moomin to move away.

Moomin slowly twists his paw to take hold of Snufkin’s hand properly, and the two of them sit there for a few seconds of silence, both of their faces burning bright red with the unbearable awkwardness of it all. Still, Snufkin has succeeded, and he allows himself to feel comforted by the soft feeling of Moomin’s paw.

“What did you do during the months before we got back?” Moomin asks, finally. He seems to be connecting the line from Snufkin’s need for contact to the change in scheduling. Which is fair. “You never told me.”

Snufkin’s mind races, trying to come up with a good answer. In truth, he wandered the forest and didn’t talk or play his harmonica, and he sometimes forgot to set up his tent before it got dark so he just slept out on the ground in the cold. That’s not something to tell Moomin, though. “I asked around, but nobody knew where you went,” he says carefully, “so I just took my travels elsewhere.”

“You didn't go far, though,” Moomin says. He turns his head to look at Snufkin, and when Snufkin does the same, their noses are close enough to brush. “Were you okay?”

Snufkin smiles a practiced smile. “Of course. It can’t have been any worse than when  _ I’m _ late coming back, you know?”

Moomin frowns, and seems to decide to ignore Snufkin’s answer completely. Perhaps it hadn’t been a particularly reassuring answer. “Because when we got back, you were so much thinner and you looked so tired.”

Snufkin blinks, startled. He’d definitely taken notice of the weight he lost while living entirely on foraged roots and berries, but he had no idea that Moomin did. “I don’t think so,” he said, rushing to explain that away. “I mean, you must have gotten so much stronger while sailing around so much, right?”

Moomin doesn’t contradict him, but he doesn’t look very convinced, either. Snufkin clears his throat and breaks eye contact, looking back up at the sky. “Well, I’m just glad that you got a good winter adventure. You’re usually asleep for those.”

“Yeah,” Moomin says quietly. He shifts over, close enough to rest his head against Snufkin’s shoulder, and the two of them lie there for a long time in silence. 

The feeling of the sun and gentle breeze through the flowers seeps the discomfort from the conversation right out of Snufkin, eventually. By the time they stand up to go home, Snufkin feels much calmer, and he even has the courage to take Moomin’s hand again as they start down the trail home.

When he risks a look back at Moomin, Moomin’s still blushing a faint pink color, but he looks as content as Snufkin feels. Maybe he’s already forgotten their earlier conversation.

 

It’s a cold autumn. If it had been any other year, Snufkin would have packed up as soon as it started to freeze at night, as soon as he started waking up shivering.

But it’s  _ not  _ any other year, and Snufkin is trying to put off leaving for the first time. After all, he’d left too early last year. He’d left too early, and the Moomins had disappeared.

It’s irrational to think that’ll happen again. It probably wouldn’t happen two years in a row, at least. And it certainly doesn’t warrant sleeping outdoors at this temperature, with him waking up with blue lips and numb hands.

He can feel that it’s about to snow. The sky is grey and heavy, and the Moomins are preparing to hibernate already. Still, every time he thinks about packing up, he’s hit with a wave of panic saying that he  _ needs  _ to be here until the Moomins fall asleep, or  _ else _ .

Or else  _ what _ ? Snufkin has no idea. What’s  _ wrong  _ with him? He shouldn’t even care. He should be above this.

Moomin approaches his camp one day. Snufkin has finally emerged from his tent around midday, staying close to his fire and trying to chase away the chill of the night before. “Good morning!” Moomin says. 

“Hello, Moomin,” Snufkin says. He smiles.

“You must be heading out soon, huh?”

Snufkin pokes a stick into the fire. He feels sort of lethargic and sad. Winter is the hardest season. “I suppose,” he says. 

“It’s not that I  _ want  _ you to leave, I like having you here!” Moomin rushes to say. He sits down on the log next to Snufkin, and when Snufkin chances a look, Moomin is worried. “It’s just--it’s very cold out and it can’t be pleasant to sleep outside. And you’ve never stayed this late.”

“It’s not  _ that  _ late,” Snufkin says. He sees tiny snowflakes beginning to hit the ground around him, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to cry. If he was feeling like himself, he would be out on the road, getting his well-earned alone time. “Uh, it’s still quite nice out.”

“You’re shivering,” Moomin says, his tone colored with concern. 

Snufkin blinks. His vision is getting a little watery, but if he cries the tears will freeze on his face and it’ll be unpleasant for everyone involved. “Are you all going to leave again this winter?”

“Is that what this is about?” Moomin asks. The snow is getting thicker by the second, and beginning to stick on the ground around the campsite. 

There’s really no use in lying about it anymore. Snufkin’s tired, and he’s done being mysterious about the thing that’s been worrying him for months. “Yes,” he mumbles. “I don’t want to come back and have you not be here.”

Moomin scoots closer and hugs Snufkin from the side. He’s very warm. “Oh, Snufkin,” he says. “I didn’t realize it scared you that badly.”

Snufkin sniffs, and turns his head to push his face into Moomin’s soft shoulder. “I was worried you’d forgotten about me,” he says into Moomin’s fur. He doesn’t think Moomin can understand him very well, but Moomin squeezes him comfortingly anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

Eventually, however, he pulls away. “I should pack up,” Snufkin says, and wipes his face. He keeps his eyes low, not wanting to see how worried Moomin is. Snufkin stands and rolls up his blanket, his sleeping mat, his tent, and carefully packs up his backpack, all with Moomin watching.

The snow is falling harder. It’s already getting dark, even though it’s hardly early evening, and Snufkin bleakly stares out at the forest. He won’t be able to get very far before dark.

“How about you come stay with us tonight?” Moomin asks. He stands and takes Snufkin’s hand gently, and pulls him towards the bridge. “You should warm up.”

Snufkin’s teeth are chattering, he realizes. “Alright,” he agrees. He’s not ready to leave yet, anyway.

When they enter the house, Moominmamma is already there to greet them at the door. Snufkin has the sneaking suspicion that she’d been watching from the window--perhaps even that she’d been the one to send Moomin out to get Snufkin in the first place. 

"It’s lovely to see you,” she says to Snufkin, smiling kindly as if she hasn’t known from the start that Snufkin would end up here. She takes Snufkin’s hat and brushes snow off of the brim before setting it carefully back on his head, and then points for him to take off his boots before kissing her son on the head and going back towards the kitchen. “Tea or cocoa?”

Snufkin glances to Moomin, who says, “Cocoa for both of us, thanks, Mamma.” After Snufkin takes off his boots and sets his backpack down, Moomin pushes him towards the living room to sit on the sofa. Once sitting, Moomin drapes a big heavy blanket over the two of them, and Snufkin cautiously leans into Moomin’s side to warm up. Moomin doesn’t move away, even though Snufkin’s entire being is screaming with questions about if this is acceptable or not.

“It’s quiet in here,” Snufkin remarks.

"Yeah, Little My left a couple of days ago to spend the winter with someone,” Moomin says.

Moominmamma comes in with the cocoa soon. “You’re welcome to stay the night,” she tells Snufkin, “so long as you two don’t make a ruckus upstairs. I think Pappa is in for an early hibernation this year; he’s been very grumpy lately.”

He’s sure she’s just saying this to reassure him, and it works. He gives her a cautious smile, which she returns before heading back to the dining room area.

“Sorry about this,” Snufkin eventually says, when they’re mostly done with their cocoa and he’s starting to drift off to sleep. 

“Nonsense,” Moomin says. He’s being remarkably calm, though Snufkin knows that moomins are always sort of sleepy this time of year. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Snufkin’s face is warm. He blinks up at Moomin, but quickly averts his gaze again. It’s weird, being in such a cozy situation with him. Not a bad weird, either. “I’m better now,” he says.

He can hear Moomin’s sort of satisfied smile in his voice. “You can sleep if you want,” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake up, I promise.”

“I feel like I should be promising  _ you  _ that,” Snufkin says, and rubs his eyes. 

Moomin scoots around a little bit to get into a more comfortable position, so that he can rest his head on top of where Snufkin’s is resting on Moomin’s shoulder. “How about neither of us go anywhere? Promise?”

Snufkin extracts a hand from the blanket and holds out a pinky, which Moomin shakes with his own. “Promise.”


End file.
